Sirius Business
by Tiffany Park
Summary: Killer bees, alien ducks, blue puppy dogs, and flying snakes. Can things get weirder? Sure they can. SG-3 fic: Colonel Makepeace, Lieutenant Johnson, General Hammond.


TITLE: Sirius Business

AUTHOR: Tiffany Park

STATUS: Complete

CATEGORY: Humor, Adventure, Pure Fluff

SPOILERS: None

SEASON: Who knows? Oh, let's just say Season Two

PAIRINGS: None

RATING: PG-13

CONTENT WARNINGS: Mild language, mild violence

SUMMARY: Killer bees, alien ducks, blue puppy dogs, and flying snakes. Can things get weirder? Sure they can. Blame this year's excessively enthusiastic spring and my hatred of cottonwood.

ARCHIVE: Please ask.

DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: In honor of my yard, where everything bloomed all at once this spring and then bit the dust. Also, I curse cottonwood, plague upon mankind that it is. This is sort of an experimental piece. Hope the format of switching back and forth between "Now: Makepeace's toned-down report" and "Then: what really happened" isn't too confusing. I needed something fluffy.

May 24, 2015: More ancient Makepeace & SG-3 fic, this time from the Dark Ages of 2005. This was an experimental piece, and now that I've read it again (for the first time in a decade LOL), I consider it an experiment that failed. Oh, well, that's the way it goes. Enjoy.

* * *

 **Sirius Business**

 **by**

 **Tiffany Park**

 _ **Planet Earth  
Stargate Command, Colonel Makepeace's office**_

Colonel Makepeace sat at his desk, staring at his monitor. The phosphorescent image of Form 1-3A65-47/28B3-A1 Stargate Command After-Mission Report glowed mockingly at him, its blank fields daring him to type something.

He hated these things. He hated reading them, and he hated writing them. Once upon a time report writing had simply been another facet of his job, just a routine part of everyday procedure. That had changed the day he'd been assigned to the SGC. Nowadays, the task required way too much thought and energy, and was frequently damaging to what little peace of mind he had left.

Still, procedure was procedure, and it had to be done. Best to get it over with. Makepeace thought for a moment, decided that a dry, formal recitation was the best angle to take this time, and started typing.

"SG-3 traveled through the SGC Stargate and arrived on P99-1143 at 1801 Zulu Earth time, which was early morning at the targeted destination.

"The team checked out the MALP and surveyed the area for Goa'uld activity and other potential hazards. Finding none, SG-3 began a standard reconnaissance of the local region.

"After approximately two hours, First Lieutenant Daryl Johnson developed a minor allergic reaction to an unknown substance. This reaction was characterized by frequent bouts of sneezing. Corporal Thomas Henderson, acting team medic, determined this was not a dangerous condition, and speculated that First Lieutenant Johnson's sneezing was caused by excessive amounts of pollen in the air released by the large variety of flowering plant life.

"First Lieutenant Johnson gave assurances that, aside from sneezing, he felt fine. SG-3 continued its reconnaissance mission.

"Upon return to Earth, First Lieutenant Daryl Johnson submitted to medical examination and evaluation for possible complications arising from his unforeseen sensitivity to P99-1143's pollen and other native substances. Test results still forthcoming."

* * *

 _ **Planet P99-1143  
+2h14m elapsed mission time**_

Makepeace inhaled deeply, enjoying the warm, fragrant air. P99-1143 was like a garden in the throes of an overenthusiastic spring season. A rainbow of wildflowers carpeted the gently rolling meadow. The fresh, green foliage was accented with shades of blue and lavender.

Clumps of flowering trees and bushes dotted the landscape, and a long thicket of trees and shrubs bordered the right side of the meadow. It extended far into the distance, gradually becoming a true forest, filled with the cheerful twitters and rustles of birds and small animals. The cloudless sky arched overhead, colored a pure, robin's egg blue. Small tufts of cottony pink fluff drifted along on the soft breeze. A delicate insect fluttered by, its gauzy wings catching the light.

Yes, P99-1143 was a very nice place. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Makepeace was relaxed and actually enjoying an offworld mission. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the flowers were blooming...

"Ah-choo!"

...And Johnson was sneezing.

Makepeace looked over his shoulder. "You all right, Lieutenant?"

Johnson grumbled, "Fine, sir," and let out three more sneezes.

"You have a cold or something?"

"No, sir." Johnson rubbed his watery eyes.

Corporal Henderson, SG-3's de facto medic, said, "Looks like allergies to me, Colonel."

Makepeace said, "I didn't know you had allergies, Johnson."

"I don't." Johnson sniffed irritably.

Gunnery Sergeant Andrews said, "Except here, obviously."

"I don't have allergies," Johnson repeated, looking mulish.

"Nobody else is having any problems."

Henderson said, "Colonel, Lieutenant Johnson must be sensitive to all this pollen. There's an awful lot of it in the air."

Makepeace called a halt. "Okay, let's take a break. Henderson, make sure it really is just allergies."

"I'm fine, Colonel," Johnson insisted, and sneezed again.

"Uh, huh."

Johnson snuffled and grumbled as Henderson started fussing. Makepeace hid a grin. In all honesty, he wasn't too concerned. Given the huge amounts of flowers, pollen, and fluff in the air, he'd have been a bit surprised if no one on his team had had a problem. He was just glad it wasn't him. He felt a little sorry for Johnson, but was happy to be enjoying the pleasant spring day. Even if it was on an alien world. It wasn't often that SG-3 got to recon a nice planet, and Makepeace planned to appreciate every minute he could.

He and Andrews busied themselves with collecting a few more samples. Makepeace smugly imagined the envy the plant and flower specimens would invoke back home. Winter still clung to Colorado Springs, and people were starting to get antsy. He would be sure to write a detailed report for the reading pleasure of all interested parties about this planet's physical features and characteristics.

After about ten minutes, Henderson came over to him. Makepeace raised his brows and asked, "Well?"

Henderson shrugged. "Aside from allergies, Lieutenant Johnson is fine. I gave him some antihistamines. That should help with the symptoms."

Makepeace looked over to where Johnson sat. The lieutenant was scowling and methodically dismembering a bright red flower. "He doesn't look happy."

Henderson followed Makepeace's gaze. "He's always been proud of his perfect health, sir. This is a blow to his ego." The corporal wore a suspiciously bland expression.

"Don't have too much fun at his expense."

"Of course not, sir."

Andrews joined them. "Colonel, since the lieutenant's not on the verge of death, I need to answer the call of nature."

"The call of nature, huh?" Makepeace raised both brows at the gunnery sergeant's uncharacteristic use of a polite euphemism.

"Eh, this place is too pretty to say anything about draining lizards. Besides, sir, I ain't seen no lizards."

Makepeace snorted. That was the Andrews everyone knew and loved. "Go. Get outta here." He pointed at some bushes nearby. "Henderson, stay with him. I don't care how pretty this planet is, nobody goes anywhere alone."

* * *

 _ **Planet Earth  
Stargate Command, Colonel Makepeace's office**_

Makepeace reviewed what he had written so far. Yeah, that looked good. A perfectly accurate, if brief and somewhat understated, accounting of SG-3's first hours on that rotten planet.

He resumed his typing.

"As part of its mission, SG-3 collected soil, mineral, and plant samples from various locations. Special care was taken to avoid undue contact with indigenous animal life.

"See attached Form 44B-766/124-A for description and disposition of alien specimens."

* * *

 _ **Planet P99-1143  
+2h36m elapsed mission time**_

"Arrrgh! Run away! Run away!"

Makepeace whirled at the shrill sound of Andrews's voice. The gunnery sergeant and Corporal Henderson burst out of their clump of bushes, running hell-bent for leather.

"What the devil is your problem—?" Johnson began, grabbing Andrews's sleeve to stop the man's wild dash.

Henderson halted beside them and pointed back to the brush. "That!"

A huge swarm of bright orange insects rose above the bushes. Hundreds of the tiny little monsters buzzed furiously in a tangerine-colored cloud of doom. The collective hum was terrifying.

Makepeace felt his eyes widen. He gripped his M4 carbine tightly. "Oh, crap."

"They got stingers!" Andrews howled. He jerked his arm out of Johnson's grasp. "Run!"

Andrews and Henderson plunged into the thicket at top speed. No fools, Makepeace and Johnson raced after them.

The angry minions of insectoid vengeance flew after SG-3 in hot pursuit.

* * *

 _ **Planet Earth  
Stargate Command, Colonel Makepeace's office**_

"Despite SG-3's best efforts to avoid contact with P99-1143's indigenous animal life, all members of the team received several stings from wasp-like insects. No member of SG-3 experienced any reactions to these stings more serious than mild pain and minor swelling of the stung site.

"Upon return to Earth, all members of SG-3 submitted to medical examination and evaluation for potential complications arising from the insect stings and possible envenomation. Test results still forthcoming."

Makepeace stopped typing and looked around when he heard someone sigh heavily. Then he realized that the sigh had been his own.

* * *

 _ **Planet P99-1143  
+2h42m elapsed mission time**_

Makepeace lifted his head out of the dirty pond water and looked around cautiously. "I think they're gone," he said, picking alien duckweed from his hair.

A clump of green and lavender reeds parted, and Andrews's wet face peeked out. His eyes darted back and forth, seeking traces of the buzzing, stinging menace. "You sure, Colonel?"

"Hell, no, I'm not sure. I don't see or hear the little bastards, though."

A few pink bits of fluff drifted by, followed by the sound of an enormous sneeze. His presence thus announced, Lieutenant Johnson waded out of P99-1143's version of cattails and into view, followed by Corporal Henderson. Both men were festooned with long strands of water weeds.

Makepeace eyed two particular members of team with disfavor. "So, we're all present and accounted for, then?" he asked coldly. He should have saved his breath. Andrews and Henderson didn't even have the grace to look abashed.

"This is wet and muddy and slimy and disgusting, and it's all your fault." Johnson glared at Andrews. The lieutenant's lips twisted as he gave his arm a shake. Duckweed went flying. "My butt hurts, too. I think one of your bugs got me there."

Makepeace gingerly rubbed a sore spot on his left ear. "Count your blessings, if you only got one sting."

"I didn't say that, I just said one nailed me in the ass." Johnson poked at a spot on his arm. "I was stung by at least three of those damn things before we all jumped in this disgusting water."

Andrews snorted. "Only three? Just be glad we stumbled into this pond. This disgusting water saved you from some major pain."

"Stumbled is right," Henderson jeered. "Literally."

"Oh, shut up."

Despite his irritation, Makepeace couldn't stop a chortle. During his panicky flight, Andrews had found the little pond by tripping over a branch and falling face first into the drink. The rest of SG-3 knew a good thing when they saw it and had splashed right in after him. Johnson and Makepeace had grabbed the sputtering gunnery sergeant and dragged him into the reeds. The four men had stayed low in the water, at times even submerging themselves completely, hoping the hovering swarm of buzzing orange terrors would give up on their intended victims and fly away.

At least that old trick seemed to have worked.

Johnson was still peeved. "How the hell did you two stir up those hornets, anyway?" His irate gaze took in both enlisted men.

Henderson held up his hands. "Hey, sir, it wasn't me. Mike stepped in a nest, and the rest is history."

"Traitor," Andrews grumbled. "Look, it wasn't deliberate or anything. How was I to know this planet had hornets that build nests in the ground?"

Johnson said, "Your credentials say you're an expert tracker and sniper with almost twenty years of field experience. Aren't you supposed to notice little things like that?"

"Yeah, well, I really had to pee, sir."

Makepeace gave his teammates a disgusted look, and sloshed out of the pond. So much for the pleasant spring day. He stood in the mud at the water's edge, dripping, and picked a few more slimy green strands off his clothing.

The pond was situated in a small clearing. Not that the woods were very thick here, anyway. Mostly they consisted of a variety of bushes and lots of spindly trees with oval-shaped leaves. Sunlight slanted to the ground, illuminating scattered areas of wildflowers, blue-green grass, thick mosses, and a few spots of bare dirt.

There wasn't an orange hornet to be seen. Or heard. Small favors.

Rivulets of moisture trickled from his hair down along his neck and into his soaked collar. Water dripped from the hems of his clothes, plinking onto the mud like a mini rain shower. A single drop hung from the tip of his nose, trembling with each breath he took. With a deliberate, controlled motion, he wiped it away. Then he slowly turned and regarded his men. "Okay, heroes, the coast is clear. Anyone care to join me on dry land?"

Three drenched and bedraggled Marines hauled themselves out of the pond and came to stand by him. They were speechless, for a change.

Ignoring the squelching in his boots, Makepeace moved off the mud onto a sunlit patch of sweet-smelling grass. He set down his pack and carbine, removed his flak vest, and dropped it next to his pack. He then pulled off his BDU blouse and twisted it hard to wring out as much liquid as he could. A cascade of water splashed onto the ground.

His teammates didn't move. They stood rooted in the mud, staring at him with appalled fascination.

Apparently, the Three Stooges had finally figured out that he was pissed off. He scowled at them. "Don't just stand there like dumb lumps. Get yourselves dried off as much as possible. I hope you had the sense to keep your spare skivvies in a watertight bag."

They continued to stand there, watching him.

"Move!" he snapped, and they startled back to life. Satisfied that they were with him again, he peeled off his wet T-shirt and dug into his rucksack.

* * *

 _ **Planet Earth  
Stargate Command, Colonel Makepeace's office**_

"The submersion of all team members in pond water was necessitated to deter the wasp-like insects. This tactic resulted in the desired outcome.

"Upon return to Earth, all members of SG-3 submitted to medical examination and evaluation for potential complications arising from immersion in pond water and exposure to unknown water life and potential pathogens. Test results still forthcoming."

Finally on a roll, Makepeace continued typing. Why stop now? The best was yet to come.

"Further attempts to avoid contact with P99-1143's indigenous animal life failed."

* * *

 _ **Planet P99-1143  
+3h08m elapsed mission time**_

Four damp Marines loitered around the pond, clad only in USMC-issue T-shirts, shorts, dog tags, socks, and combat boots. Their BDUs hung on nearby tree branches, drying in the pleasantly warm air. They kept their weapons at hand, and stayed watchful for nasty surprises.

Makepeace thought it would be funny, if it weren't so utterly pathetic.

A flock of waterfowl glided across the water's surface, gracefully maneuvering among the reeds. They were about the size of large mallards, but with shorter, thicker necks. Their blue and black bills were vaguely duck-like, but wider and deeper. They boasted brilliantly colored plumage, and called to each other with a kind of hoarse honking, like ducks with bronchitis.

Some nearby bushes rustled, and Makepeace heard a noise that sounded distinctly like a canine woof. He turned, frowning, and a dog bounded out of the underbrush, barking cheerfully, and ran straight at him.

Four guns immediately aimed at the creature. The dog stopped and looked confused, then it sat down and gazed up at Makepeace with soulful brown eyes.

Makepeace stared back at his new admirer. Although bearing superficial similarities, it wasn't really a dog. The blue and brown mottled fur made that quite clear.

It was approximately the size of a large cocker spaniel, with short, plush fur, a blunt face rather like a boxer's, floppy ears, and a stubby tail. Its shoulders, hips, and legs weren't quite right for a dog. It looked more like a cute cross between a dog and a kangaroo.

It sat back on its haunches, lifting its front legs a little off the ground and exposing a fuzzy belly. Its tail wagged tentatively. The paws looked almost like hands, with short, thick "fingers" instead of pads. The alien dog made a soft, whining sound, and held its begging pose.

Definitely more dog than kangaroo, Makepeace thought as he slowly lowered his carbine. Smart little cookie, too, to have recognized the threat and displayed what had to be submissive behavior for its species.

The dog grinned at him in a peculiarly doggy way. It ambled forward and leaned against his bare legs, and made a little wurfing noise.

"Colonel?" Johnson asked. He sounded uncertain.

"I think it's okay, Johnson. Let me try something..." Makepeace bent a little and carefully held an empty hand out, ready to snatch it back at the first sign of quasi-canine aggression. The dog sniffed delicately, then bumped its head against his palm in an obvious demand for attention.

"You're lucky I'm a dog person," Makepeace told the animal, and scruffed its ears. "Charging out the way you did, you might've gotten yourself shot."

Henderson said, "You probably shouldn't be doing that, Colonel. What if its skin or fur is toxic?"

"Then I'll be the first to know."

"Colonel—"

"It's already rubbed on my legs, so I'm already exposed. Let's just see what happens," Makepeace said, petting the alien dog. The creature's behavior reminded him of his own dog, an attention seeker if ever there was one.

The rest of his team came closer. Johnson sneezed. The dog, which had closed its eyes in doggy ecstasy, blinked and stared up at the lieutenant with a startled expression. Makepeace continued to scratch its ears, and it settled back into its former state of bliss.

"Cute little guy," said Andrews.

Makepeace said, "Actually, I'm not sure what sex it is. Couldn't tell. But I think it's pretty young." The blue dog struck him as somewhat puppy-ish. If it had been an Earth dog, he'd have said it was about a year old. On this world, though, who could tell?

Johnson grinned. "Would'ja look at that. Colonel Paranoid's getting all mushy over a puppy dog."

Andrews said, "Animals always know who the biggest suckers are."

Makepeace said, "That's enough, you two." But there was no bite to his words, and he didn't stop petting the dog.

Coughing and honking noises came from the pond. Makepeace saw that the flock of ducks had started moving in toward the shore. They approached quickly, displaying no fear of the humans. Then the lead duck reached the muddy bank.

Makepeace immediately revised his opinion that they were waterfowl. The body shape was all wrong. The so-called ducks had four legs that terminated in webbed feet. Their legs were long and muscular, and looked like they'd be just as good at running through the forest as paddling through the water. While the pseudo-ducks were covered with something that resembled feathers, they didn't have any wings. Big drops of water rolled off the lead duck's brilliant plumage.

The dog let out a whimper and cowered behind Makepeace's legs. He looked down at it. "What's the matter, huh?" he asked in a coaxing tone, but the dog just whined. More of the fake ducks padded out of the water.

He noticed that the pseudo-ducks' eyes were set forward like a predator's, rather than on the sides of their heads. Their webbed feet sported impressive claws. He added those observations to the dog's frightened reaction, and flicked the safety off his carbine while rapping out to his men, "Look alive, those things are trouble."

The lead duck opened its mouth wide and hissed, displaying row after row of razor sharp teeth. The pseudo-ducks were all out of the pond now, and spreading out, as though they intended to surround their prey.

"Oh, hell," Makepeace said, watching as more toothy beaks yawed wide. Another pseudo-duck hissed and snapped its jaws. Makepeace scowled and lifted his carbine to his shoulder.

"Jesus, look at them," Johnson said. He hefted his para-SAW machine gun and aimed the barrel at the nearest pseudo-duck. "We're lucky they didn't swarm over us like piranhas while we were still in the water."

"Piranha ducks?" Andrews moaned. "The killer bees weren't bad enough, now we've got piranha ducks, too? Screw the flowers, I want to go home."

"I think they're after the dog, not us," Henderson said. "They didn't get interested until it showed up. Maybe it's a prey animal for them."

Makepeace felt the dog trembling against the back of his calves. He eyed the approaching piranha ducks and made a quick decision. "Johnson, fire off a few rounds to scare 'em away. The noise should be enough to send them back into the cattails."

"Yes, sir!" Johnson opened up with his machine gun, shooting several bursts over the tops of the piranha ducks' heads. As predicted, the ducks panicked at the thunderous noise. With a flurry of chaotic, frenzied movement and a great deal of distressed honking, they splashed back into the pond and hightailed it into the reeds, where they disappeared from sight.

Unfortunately, piranha ducks weren't the only animals frightened by the gunfire. The dog let out a shriek and dashed off into the woods, yipping hysterically.

Makepeace watched it vanish into the underbrush and muttered with some regret, "I suppose I should have expected that to happen."

His face carefully expressionless, Andrews said, "We couldn't have kept it anyway, sir. It's not like General Hammond would believe us if we told him it followed us home."

Makepeace slanted a quelling look at him, but reflected that it was pretty ridiculous to be standing around in his underwear on another planet, holding a loaded carbine and worrying about a lost alien dog. His lips twitched with amusement at the mental image Andrews had painted. General Hammond would probably blow a gasket if presented with that little scenario.

Come to think of it, Hammond would probably blow a gasket over this scenario, as well. Makepeace started considering ways he might spin the official mission report.

"Colonel," Johnson said, "I don't think the piranha ducks are as scared as we'd hoped." He jerked his head at the pond.

Sure enough, the carnivorous pseudo-ducks were starting to poke their heads out of the reeds. Beady little eyes focused on the Marines. One piranha duck swam out, then headed back into hiding. Another one pulled the same maneuver. Then two more. Clearly, they were getting their courage up. Pretty soon they'd try another attack.

"Tenacious bastards, aren't they?" Andrews said.

Makepeace cast a regretful glance at his wet BDUs draped over a tree branch. SG-3 couldn't afford to wait until their clothes dried. Not that the nasty creatures were much of a threat against automatic weapons, but there was no sense in inviting more trouble. Besides, it wasn't nice to use the local critters for target practice. You never knew what BEM might turn out to be intelligent, or worse, the local beauty queen.

Makepeace doubted the piranha ducks qualified, but since he'd started traveling through the Stargate, he'd come to the conclusion that God had a perverse sense of humor. It was best not to make assumptions.

At least the uniforms weren't dripping anymore. Makepeace sighed and said, "All right, obviously we can't stick around here. We have to move out. Marines, put your pants on."

* * *

 _ **Planet Earth  
Stargate Command, Colonel Makepeace's office**_

Makepeace propped his elbows on his desk and rested his chin in his hands. Piranha ducks. Who'd have thought it? And carnivorous ducks weren't even the weirdest things SG-3 had encountered on P99-1143.

This report was proving quite a challenge to his creative writing skills.

Makepeace subscribed to the theory that one should not upset one's superiors unduly. That was going to be a bit difficult to accomplish from this point on.

Remember the keys to boring, un-involving writing, he told himself. Big words. Passive sentence structure. Weak verbs. Used correctly, those things could make the Second Coming sound pedestrian.

That was the ticket.

* * *

 _ **Planet P99-1143  
+3h31m elapsed mission time**_

Despite their uncomfortably wet clothes, SG-3 continued with their recon mission, grimly marching through the thin forest. Golden sunlight slanted through the trees. The planet's flora remained stunning, with colorful blooms bursting from the majority of plants. The air was thick with scented pollen and drifting pink fluff. However, no one on the team felt particularly inclined to appreciate the beauty of nature.

Makepeace shifted his rucksack and looked at Johnson. "Haven't heard you sneeze in a while. I take it the antihistamines finally kicked in?"

Johnson grinned. "Absolutely, Colonel." He picked at some pink cotton that had stuck to his damp sleeve. "Henderson's drugs worked great."

"Better living through chemistry."

"Damn straight, sir. Now if only our clothes would dry out."

Makepeace couldn't help but agree. Besides being uncomfortable to wear, the wet uniforms were fluff magnets. All four men were liberally decorated with annoying pink fuzz. Drifts of the stuff had accumulated all over the ground like pink snow. Tree and bush branches had collected furry patches.

Up ahead, Andrews stopped dead, crying out, "What the hell was that?"

Almost at the same time, Henderson said, "Cool!"

Makepeace and Johnson exchanged a confused glance. Andrews's reaction indicated a potential problem, Henderson's just the opposite. Makepeace looked around. He didn't see anything that might be a threat.

He moved ahead to join his two men and asked them, "What's wrong?"

Andrews's eyes were wide. "Sir, you won't believe this."

"I won't believe what?"

"It was a flying snake, Colonel," Henderson said, practically gushing with excitement. "I've never seen one before."

Not disguising his sarcasm, Makepeace said, "No, really?"

Johnson was more direct. "When would you have ever seen a fricking flying snake? Did it have wings or something?" He watched the branches overhead, as though expecting a snake to swoop down on him at any moment.

Unfazed, Henderson said, "We have them on Earth, too, sirs. They don't have wings. Actually, they don't really fly; they glide for surprisingly long distances. They kind of flatten out their bodies and leap out of trees, and undulate from side to side to stay airborne. This one was just like that. I'd only seen videos of them before. It's really the coolest thing. Some of them can even turn in mid air."

"Oh, great," Johnson said. "So now we have to watch out for ambush snakes?"

Makepeace frowned. "Are they dangerous?"

Henderson shrugged. "I don't know."

"Then let's not find out. We'll just have to keep away from them."

Johnson was staring up with his mouth hanging open. "That might be difficult, sir," he said, very quietly.

Makepeace looked up. He saw tangles of branches overhead, with masses of oval leaves filtering the bright sunlight. Something moved, and when he focused on it, he saw a delicate, turquoise colored snake coiled around a thin tree limb. He turned in a circle, staring upwards, and spotted at least ten more of the snakes. One dangled from its perch, its tail holding it secure, its head curved upward so its body looked like the letter J.

Makepeace jumped back a step when the snake abruptly launched itself into the air. It rapidly wiggled its body back and forth, and landed on another tree branch about twenty feet away. "Holy—"

"Pretty cool, huh?" Henderson said. No one else appeared terribly thrilled with this new development.

"Lemme guess. You had a snake for a pet when you were a kid," Makepeace said sourly. Henderson shrugged and smiled.

Terrific, Makepeace thought. First a blue dog, then piranha ducks. Now flying snakes. This was a weird planet. With a wary glance at the snakes in the trees, he said, "All right, let's get away from this area. Move out and watch your heads. And remember, flying snakes have the right of way at all times."

The group nervously made their way through the snake infested woods, keeping a cautious watch for any activity above their heads. For the most part, the snakes seemed content to drowse in the branches, although occasionally one would leap from one tree to another.

Despite the sheltering forest, the day grew much warmer. Makepeace kept picking at his sticky, damp clothing. The wet BDUs clung to him in uncomfortable places, and trapped pockets of humid air next to his skin. Not only that, but his bee stings itched. From the way his men kept fidgeting, he knew he wasn't the only one suffering.

After about half an hour's worth of trekking and specimen collecting, Makepeace was ready to just bag the mission and head home. So far SG-3 had found nothing of particular interest. They had dutifully taken a number of soil, rock, and plant samples, but so far had found no signs of technology or indigenous intelligent life. All they'd seen were killer bees, a blue dog, carnivorous ducks, flying snakes, and a whole lot of pink fluff. While it was interesting, it didn't seem worth all the trouble, or the discomfort.

Then they found the trap.

They gathered around and inspected it. It was crude, as hunting traps went. A simple noose snare, small, composed of cords and sticks and baited with some vegetables. Every man on SG-3 knew how to fashion one like it, since such snares were a basic part of survival training. The snare wasn't world shattering, but it represented something that was: intelligent life on P99-1143.

Makepeace asked, "Anyone seen any signs of who left this here?"

Andrews shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Sir, I haven't spotted anything. Probably the hunter laid this snare and moved on. They'll probably come back to check on it every so often, though."

"This from the man who stomped through a hornet's nest," Johnson said. Obviously, he was still annoyed about the dunk in the pond.

Andrews insisted, "There's been no sign." He didn't bother to apologize again.

Makepeace grunted. "Well, whoever it was, they're not our problem unless they make themselves into our problem." He didn't want any more complications and hoped the hunter stayed well away until after they were long gone. "We need to report this to the SGC."

"Mission over, sir?" asked Henderson, sounding hopeful. He made a face as he plucked his damp sleeve away from his arm.

"Depends on what General Hammond wants to do." Much as Makepeace wanted this particular mission to be over and done with, Hammond might very well decide to send some experts over to make contact with the natives. Since SG-3 was already familiar with the terrain, the general might want them to stick around to act as tour guides and body guards.

It was also possible that General Hammond would wait for test results on the specimens SG-3 had collected, to see if there was anything here worthwhile. Otherwise, why bother contacting the natives at all? Makepeace rather hoped Hammond would go that route. SG-3 might have to return to this world, but at least they'd get a chance to clean up, dry off, and grab some decent chow and a little sack time back on Earth.

Henderson got out a camera and snapped some pictures of the snare. Makepeace turned, preparing to move on, when a squirming turquoise blur shot straight at his face.

"Jesus!" he yelled, dodging aside to avoid the flying snake. He stumbled into Andrews, and both of them blundered into the snare. Makepeace felt the noose tighten around his ankle and pull him off balance. He hopped on one foot, holding onto Andrews for balance as he yanked his trapped leg free, and they fell backwards into the bushes.

Immediately, Makepeace's world spun as he was flipped end over end and hoisted into the air with a sickening lurch. Hanging upside down, he and Andrews bobbed gently, tangled in a heavy-duty net made of thick ropes. Andrews was cursing a blue streak. Once his higher brain functions caught up with current events, Makepeace realized he was swearing nonstop, as well.

Johnson and Henderson stood there, goggling, while their snared teammates hung from a tree, suspended a good five feet above the ground.

Makepeace felt Andrews struggle against the net and the ungainly bulk of both their rucksacks. A hard knee made contact with his leg, then a pointy elbow nailed him in the side of his head. Makepeace barked, "Stop moving, will you? You're not helping!"

"Yes, sir," Andrews grumbled, but he went still.

The net swung slowly back and forth. The tree creaked in time with the motion. Johnson and Henderson still hadn't moved.

Makepeace growled at them, "Feel free cut us down any time now."

Johnson blinked. "Very interesting," he said. With a suspicious twitch of the lips, he reached for his knife. "A snare for a snare. The hunters snare a small animal, which serves as bait for something bigger. Doesn't seem like a very practical method. I wonder how that works out for them?"

Makepeace was about to chew Johnson a new asshole, when he saw a spear tip emerge from between two bushes. Then another, and another. Swallowing, he said quietly, "You can ask them yourself."

Johnson and Henderson turned, as a number of vaguely humanoid aliens emerged from the trees and surrounded the four Marines. From his poor vantage point, Makepeace counted twelve of them, and from the looks on Johnson's and Henderson's faces, he knew there were more behind him.

The natives were short, only reaching Johnson's shoulder. They each had two powerfully muscled legs, two equally intimidating arms, and short, thick fingers. They wore no clothing, but had liberally adorned themselves with decorations made of beads, leaves, flowers, dried grasses, and teeth. Plush blue fur with brown markings covered their bodies and their blunt, doglike faces. While he couldn't make out their genders, when one turned aside Makepeace thought he glimpsed a short, stubby tail.

All were armed with spears.

One of the dog people made some throaty, growling sounds and gestured at the ridiculous scene. In response, the rest of the group let out a burst of wheezy, snuffling noises. Makepeace imagined the first native had said something along the lines of "Is this the dumbest thing you've ever seen, or what?" and its buddies simply couldn't contain their laughter.

Maybe he was just paranoid.

Andrews twisted around for a better look. The motion caused the net to swing harder. A new chorus of snuffling erupted. Makepeace decided he wasn't paranoid.

"I hate this planet," Andrews said.

* * *

 _ **Planet Earth  
Stargate Command, Colonel Makepeace's office**_

Makepeace idly scratched at a bandaid-covered sting on his left hand while he contemplated the glowing computer screen. To rewrite or to just plow right on through, that was the question. He was having a harder time now keeping the report dispassionate and objective. In fact, he was considering the advantages of a nervous breakdown. A good fit of hysterics, that was what he needed. Whether he'd collapse in laughter or tears was still up for debate, but no matter which way he picked, he'd still end the day tranquilized up the wazoo. At least he wouldn't have to finish typing up this fiasco.

Memories of hanging upside down in a net with a cranky sniper, while surrounded by spear-wielding dog people did strange things to a man's equanimity.

He took control of his unruly thoughts, dismissed his cowardly procrastination and avoidance fantasies, and forced himself to set his fingers back on the keyboard.

In the immortal words of Peter Quincy Taggart, damn the resonance cannons, full speed ahead.

* * *

 _ **Planet P99-1143  
+5h13m elapsed mission time**_

Accompanied by their new buddies, SG-3 spend the better part of an hour marching through the forest. Not surprisingly, their weapons, gear, and rucksacks had been confiscated. Despite this, Makepeace was a little surprised at their dog-faced guardians. The natives were actually being pretty polite, when they weren't laughing. Every once in a while, one would look at Makepeace or Andrews, and start that rasping sniggering again.

Granted, that whole business with the net had been rather undignified, but Makepeace didn't think it was all that funny. At least the natives hadn't just cut the line and dumped him and Andrews on the ground to release them. Instead, they'd carefully lowered the net to the earth then helped untangle the two men. Makepeace scowled, remembering that the aliens had been snickering the whole time.

All in all, they seemed remarkably good humored, considering the circumstances. Their peculiar sense of fun didn't extend to poking prisoners with their spears, for which Makepeace was profoundly grateful. In fact, the natives didn't make any overt threats at all. They carried SG-3's gear as though they were doing the Marines a favor. By human standards, at least, their manner was pleasant, making them seem more like friendly escorts than prison guards.

Of course, Makepeace reminded himself, human standards didn't exactly apply here.

The woods abruptly ended, giving way to a wide, cleared area. The ground had been crudely tilled, and tender, young sprouts poked through the clumps of dirt. Grasses and a profusion of fragrant, brightly colored wildflowers filled in the uncultivated areas. The air was thick with drifting pink fluff. Johnson sniffled, but the antihistamines held their own and he didn't embark on another sneezing fit.

A packed dirt road ran along one side of the field, leading to a village of odd looking dwellings, shaped like cylinders cut in half lengthwise with the flat side on the ground. The semi-cylindrical buildings reminded Makepeace of Quonset huts. The group headed toward them.

When they drew closer, Makepeace got a better look at the buildings. Arranged in interlocking semi-circles, they were made of wood and thatch, and surrounded by well-tended flower gardens. Rude dirt roads connected the various small "neighborhoods."

With excited noises, dog people came out into the street to gawk as the new arrivals passed by. Covered in short blue fur with mottled brown spots, they came in a variety of heights and girths, although none were any taller than SG-3's guardians. They wore a variety of naturalistic jewelry but no clothing. Makepeace still couldn't differentiate between genders among them. The adults were all bipeds, but the smallest among them bounded around on four feet. There were some of intermediate size, with shoulders awkwardly hunched forward. They looked like a transitional body type between the smaller ones and the adults. Adolescents, maybe? One of those dropped down to all fours, and an adult next to it growled and smacked it lightly. It gave the adult a sullen look and straightened up again.

Definitely a teenager.

Makepeace was suddenly struck with a horrible thought. "Oh, no," he said.

Johnson looked at him. "Colonel?"

"You remember that puppy dog back at the duck pond? I don't think it was a dumb animal."

Johnson looked around and got a sick look on his face as realization dawned. He swallowed hard. "Oh, no."

"Oh, no," Makepeace agreed.

SG-3 was guided farther along the road. The villagers tagged along, making a cheerful ruckus. Makepeace heard bursts of that snuffling laughing noise again, as well as chanting and...woofing. There was really no other word for some of the sounds the villagers made.

The road terminated at an open, circular area in the center of town. Other roads led away from it, radiating outward like spikes. In its midst stood a tall statue of a dog person. Carved from wood, it stood at least ten feet high and had shiny black stones for eyes. The statue's arms stretched wide, as if to embrace the entire village. Before it was a large, gray slab of stone. It looked like an altar, and was covered with dark, disturbing stains.

"I wonder if that's a statue of a famous person, or their god?" said Henderson.

Andrews said, "Well, it makes sense for it to be a god, you know. God spelled backwards—"

"Don't say it!" Makepeace snapped at him. When Andrews opened his mouth again, Makepeace shook a finger at him and repeated, "Don't!" Although a tiny devil still lurked in his eyes, Andrews subsided.

Makepeace was really more interested in the altar—and the purpose those stains implied—than the statue.

A dog person wearing an extraordinary amount of bone and flower decorations moved to stand behind the block. Makepeace thought it might be a village chief, or possibly a priest. Top dog? Makepeace struck that thought and substituted the mental label of chief-priest.

The chief-priest raised its arms and uttered a weird combination of chanting and growling. The natives spread out, filling the circle, and joined in on the noise making, swaying back and forth. On the far right, they cleared away from the road, making way for a procession of lei-wearing, dog-faced acolytes who carried heavy, elaborately carved boxes up to the statue. Scattered members of the crowd shook painted gourd rattles in time to the chanting.

Makepeace watched the show with a certain amount of disgust. "Oh, for heaven's sake. This is like a bad episode of Jonny Quest," he muttered under his breath.

His grumbling wasn't quiet enough, though. Andrews perked up and asked, "Original version, or any of the remakes?"

"The original, of course." Makepeace wondered if things could get any more inane, even as he contributed to the nonsensical conversation. Really, he couldn't help himself.

"Of course."

"Those others were completely lame." Jesus, he just couldn't stop his lips from flapping, could he?

"Pale imitations of true greatness," Andrews agreed solemnly.

Johnson and Henderson stared at them. They both looked bewildered. "What are you two talking about?" asked Johnson.

Makepeace said, "What, neither of you has ever seen Jonny Quest?"

Andrews shook his head. "It was before their time. They're just kids, Colonel."

"Hey!" Johnson protested. "I'm almost thirty."

Andrews snorted. "As I was saying..."

High-pitched, furious squawking silenced the ridiculous conversation. Two acolytes carefully opened one of the boxes and lifted out a struggling bundle of cloth and netting. The screeching animal was strong; the pair of natives had to work to keep it under control, even though it was completely covered and well bound.

With effort, the two natives slammed their burden on the stone slab, stunning the creature into immobility. They pulled back some of the bindings, revealing four clawed, webbed feet, evil beady eyes, and a toothy duck bill.

"That's one of those piranha ducks," Henderson said unnecessarily.

He'd barely finished speaking when the chief-priest raised a long, sharp knife made of glassy black material. The dog-man turned, bowed to the statue, then turned back to the altar. The four humans jumped as the chief-priest suddenly brought down the knife with a solid thwack, severing the duck's head from its body. Purplish-red blood spurted, staining the gray stone. With quick, merciless strokes, the chief-priest then removed the piranha duck's feet. The chief-priest raised its gruesome trophies over its head, and the crowd roared in approval.

While the acolytes removed the twitching body, the chief-priest threaded the duck's head and feet onto a leather string, tied the ends together, then handed the whole thing over to another acolyte.

"Oh, this does not look good," Johnson whispered.

"This is some kind of sacrifice," Andrews said. He looked nervously at their guardians. "I hope we're not next."

"You two just had to bring that up," Makepeace said. Not that everyone wasn't already thinking it, but saying it aloud just seemed to make it worse. "Everyone, keep your eyes open. We'll take the first break we get." Assuming, of course, that their guards got careless and they got a break.

Another bound piranha duck was slammed onto the altar and efficiently dispatched. Soon all four of the nasty creatures had been sent to the Great Duck Pond in the Sky. The heads and feet were carefully strung onto leather thongs, which were then tied into loops. When the set of four was complete, the acolytes carefully arranged them on the altar.

The chief-priest cleaned its paw-like hands off in a bowl of water held by an acolyte. Then it looked straight at SG-3 and made an unmistakable gesture, beckoning them forward. The crowd's chatter sounded oddly cheerful. There was a certain party-like feel to the atmosphere.

Understandably, SG-3 was a little balky at this development. Their guards made encouraging noises and gently nudged them forward.

"It's now or never," Makepeace said, eyeing the nearest guard, who looked far too attentive for comfort.

The chief-priest gestured again, this time to the crowd on the right. Makepeace heard a happy and strangely familiar yapping. It couldn't be, could it?

On the heels of that thought, a youngster bounded forward on all fours. Mottled blue and brown, about the size of a cocker spaniel—it sure looked like the puppy from the duck pond. It headed first for the chief-priest, then it caught sight of SG-3 and made a beeline straight for them.

Then it was jumping up on Makepeace, demanding attention, barking in doggy joy. The exuberant greeting confirmed the puppy's identity beyond any doubt. Makepeace couldn't help scruffing its ears.

"Sir," Johnson said, "maybe that's not such a good idea right here." He jerked his head at the surrounding dog people.

Self-consciously, Makepeace stopped and straightened up. The puppy snuffled and pawed at him. The crowd seemed friendly. At least they hadn't viewed his behavior towards the puppy as an insult.

Rising up on its hind legs, the puppy reached up, took Makepeace's hand in its soft, velvety paws, and tried to tug him forward. Makepeace dug in his heels, refusing to budge, and looked down at his little buddy. "I'd rather not," he said. The tone of his voice must have conveyed his meaning, because the puppy actually pouted.

The chief-priest heaved a great, big doggy sigh, and exchanged an odd look and a few gruff words with the nearest acolyte. Both of them started making that wheezing laughing sound. Then the chief-priest picked up the loops of duck appendages and made his way to SG-3.

Makepeace still couldn't tell the difference between the sexes of these people, but he mentally tagged the chief-priest "he" just by default. His ex-wife would undoubtedly call him a sexist pig for his choice of pronoun, but he couldn't keep thinking of an intelligent being as "it." Besides, "he" was pretty much default in the English language, so Makepeace didn't think using it was any worse than flipping a coin.

The ridiculously irrelevant thoughts ended when the chief-priest stopped a few feet away from SG-3. He held the gory leather thongs out for all to see, and a series of growling and barking words issued from his mouth. The speech was short, and to Makepeace's ears not very sweet, then the chief-priest moved right in front of Makepeace and regarded him with deep brown eyes.

This close, the alien, honey-sweet scent of piranha duck blood was noxious. Makepeace flinched a little when the chief-priest made another growling comment. The puppy—he realized it was still holding his hand—let out a short, excited woof. Sounding strangely indulgent, the chief-priest woofed back. Then he selected one of the looped thongs hanging from his arm and put it over Makepeace's head.

Even more startling, the very next thing the chief-priest did was give Makepeace a big hug. Shocked, Makepeace stood frozen for a moment, then when the hug went on he cautiously put his arms around the chief-priest's back and gave him a squeeze. That was apparently the right thing to do, because the chief-priest released him and took a step back, his doggy face beaming.

The chief-priest draped a necklace around Johnson's neck and hugged him, too. The lieutenant flashed Makepeace a wild-eyed look. Makepeace nodded and made a small hugging gesture with his hands. Johnson stiffly returned the embrace, and the chief-priest moved on to inflict the strange gift on Andrews and then Henderson.

After all the men had their necklaces, the chief-priest took the puppy by the hand. The pair returned to the altar, where the chief-priest made another speech. The crowd stamped their feet, shook their rattles, and made howling noises.

Applause and cheering, P99-1143 style.

Makepeace felt a hysterical giggle bubbling up the back of his throat. Johnson looked like he was going to faint. Henderson smiled weakly at the happy crowd.

Andrews said, "That's it?" He gestured at the grotesque necklace he wore. "So what is this, the key to the city?"

"Something like that," Makepeace said, and finally a small snicker escaped him. "For saving the puppy from the piranha ducks at the pond, I think."

"Must be an important puppy." Johnson eyed the chief-priest and the puppy where they stood before the altar.

"Who knows?" Maybe the puppy was the kid of somebody important, maybe this society just put a high value on its children. Makepeace was just glad that things had worked out okay, and especially that SG-3 had never gotten the chance to do anything that everyone present would have regretted.

* * *

 _ **Planet Earth  
Stargate Command, Colonel Makepeace's office**_

Makepeace sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. Then he leaned forward and scanned over the entire account he'd written. He'd kept it as dry, factual, and understated as he could manage, but still couldn't help wincing a little at the unpleasant and ridiculous encounters with the wasps and the duck pond. The business at the altar made him grimace outright. He still hadn't gotten over his relief that it had been an award ceremony, not some nightmarish sacrifice or execution or whatever.

After the altar ceremony, there had been a feast of sorts. Potluck style, with all the dog people bringing a dish to share. The piranha duck carcasses had been roasted and cut up, and all the villagers got a piece to eat. Probably something symbolic there, but Makepeace wasn't going to worry about it. He was just glad that the dog people hadn't taken offense when SG-3 only ate their own food. The MREs hadn't smelled as appealing as the home-cooked dog food, but at least they were a known quantity. I.e., non-toxic.

At the end of the feast, there'd been more hugs. Many, many more hugs. Great huggers, those dog people. When Johnson had expressed his discomfort, Andrews had cheerfully pointed out that at least they didn't engage in ritual butt sniffing, or any other gross dog behaviors. Makepeace really hadn't needed that mental image.

When the dog people had finally gotten their fill of hugging, the Marines had been allowed to collect their gear and go on their way. Which they had, hightailing it straight back to the Stargate and Earth. They'd ditched all the samples they'd collected at the lab—including the duck-appendage necklaces—gotten their medical checkups and tests, hit the showers, and suffered through the preliminary debriefing.

And that was that for the "fun" part of the mission.

So now here Makepeace was, attempting to write a report that wouldn't curl what remained of General Hammond's hair.

A moment later, Makepeace's computer beeped at him. An icon flashed. He double-clicked it, and saw that the preliminary mineralogical analyses of the soil and rock samples were in. He read the report with a scowl. P99-1143's dirt contained trace amounts of trinium and even, God forbid, naquada. Terrific, just great. That meant Hammond would send contact and assay teams to check things out more thoroughly, and they'd need people along who were already familiar with the place. Tour guides and body guards.

Chances were good that SG-3 would be going back to that rotten planet.

His office door jerked open, and Jack O'Neill poked his head in without even making a cursory attempt at knocking. "Hey, Makepeace, I heard about your last mission. Way to go, jarhead." Then he lowered his tone and did a pretty poor imitation of an asthmatic bulldog: "Wooof. Woof woof. Arf." Before Makepeace could formulate a suitable insult, O'Neill ducked back into the hall and continued on his way, making a few more barking noises mingled with laughter.

Makepeace glared at the half-open door for a moment. Then, with a wicked smile, he turned back to his computer and finished his report.

* * *

 _ **Planet Earth  
Stargate Command, General Hammond's office**_

Words glowed on the computer monitor:

"Conclusions: No Goa'uld presence or activity detected. Danger from observed indigenous animal and plant life within acceptable parameters. Native population does not speak English, but appears even tempered and open to meeting strangers. With the exercise of caution and diplomacy, and barring unforeseen complications, successful establishment of friendly relations with the native population should be possible.

"Recommendations: If analyses of specimens returned from P99-1143 show desirable qualities of sufficient importance to justify establishment of formal diplomatic and trade relations with the native population, recommend this command send a team experienced in communication and negotiation with indigenous peoples. Strongly recommend the aforementioned team contain at least one expert on primitive cultures and behavior.

"Colonel Robert F. Makepeace, USMC  
Commanding Officer, SG-3"

General Hammond finished reading the report and leaned back in his chair with a relieved sigh. The after-mission reports that most of his other team leaders filed often gave him indigestion, but Makepeace's reports were marvels of calm professionalism.

Thank heaven at least one of his team leaders knew how to write a report with the high level brass in mind. At least Hammond wouldn't have to rewrite it to make it suitable for consumption by the higher ups. Hammond wasn't the least bit deluded; he'd heard enough grumbling and jeering asides during SG-3's debriefing to recognize that things had gotten a bit out of hand on P99-1143. Nonetheless, while the official report might be a masterpiece of understatement, its dispassionate and objective tone was soothing.

Hammond paged through the data on P99-1143 until he reached the lab reports. Test results of the soil samples showed trace amounts of naquada and trinium, making a follow-up mission to collect larger samples for more detailed analyses and assays a high priority. The SGC could always use more sources of those important minerals.

Additionally, two of the plant specimens possessed interesting antifungal properties that had the biologists and chemists drooling over potential applications. He saw that he already had four formal requests for more samples to be obtained. Hammond supposed that an amazing cure for toenail fungus was just on the horizon.

So, who to send? Definitely SG-3, since they'd already made a very positive first contact and were well known to the locals. They were also familiar with the territory. Always a plus. But they weren't exactly Hammond's first choice for delicate negotiations with non-English speaking aliens. Or anyone else, for that matter, he thought with a touch of asperity. They weren't hot headed as a general rule, but they did tend to be heavy handed.

Hammond looked over Makepeace's final paragraph again, zeroing in on the recommendation to send an expert at friendly contact with primitive cultures. That plus the need for a language expert clicked in his brain. Clearly, this sort of thing was right up Daniel Jackson's alley.

The general brought up the base schedule on his screen. Next week SG-1 was scheduled for a routine recon mission. Nothing special or of particular value, just a quick survey. Well, they could handle something more important, instead. A few keystrokes later, SG-1 had been assigned to open formal relations with P99-1143's natives.

 ***** end *****

 _July, 2005_


End file.
